


the soul on its knees

by notquiteaghost



Category: The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: Autistic Character, Established Relationship, F/M, Genderfluid Character, Post-Canon, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-27
Updated: 2014-03-27
Packaged: 2018-01-17 05:22:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1375345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notquiteaghost/pseuds/notquiteaghost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Where the fuck is he meant to get T in fucking  <em>Uganda</em>?</p>
            </blockquote>





	the soul on its knees

**Author's Note:**

  * For [starbuckyy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starbuckyy/gifts).



> so this is for my darling isaac on the occassion of eir birthday <33 
> 
> title taken from " _Certain thoughts are prayers. There are moments when, whatever be the attitude of the body, the soul is on its knees_ ", a quote from les miserables by victor hugo.
> 
> it's tagged as 'autistic character' even though it's never explicitly stated that cunningham is autistic, because i wrote him as autistic. it's not explicitly stated because it wasn't relevant, but the way he reacts to things and deals with things should read as very autistic (speaking as an autistic person + writing based on my own personal experiences).
> 
> that said, **trigger warning** for a severe non-verbal episode, severe anxiety, and mild/inexplicit dysphoria.

Arnold is having a crisis.

He didn’t have enough time in between finding out where he was being sent for his mission and actually leaving for his mission to stock up on extra T doses, and there’s no way he’d be able to get enough to last for two years anyway, but he was kinda banking on being sent to somewhere in America, or at least a first world country. He didn’t expect to be sent to _Africa_.

Except he was, and he’s here now, and it’s been almost three months, and he’s almost out of T.

And where the fuck is he meant to get T in fucking _Uganda_?

\---

“Arnold?”

“Nnnnhhhhghhh.”

“Arnold? Arnold, I’m coming inside.”

The door creaks open, and then Nabulungi is looming over him, her face concerned. 

“Arnold? Are you okay?”

Arnold makes a groaning noise again, and Nabulungi’s frown deepens. 

“Are you sick? Do I need to get the doctor?”

“S’nothing the doctor can fix.” Arnold groans.

“Are you upset? Was there an argument?”

“I’m not-- I can’t--” Arnold swallows. “S’nothing you can fix.”

Nabulungi makes a disbelieving noise, then climbs into bed with him. “The elders, they are worrying about you. They say you have not got out of bed in three days.”

“S’nothing they can fix either.”

“Lying in bed doesn’t look to be fixing it!” Nabulungi snaps. Arnold winces, and she softens and runs a hand over his face soothingly. “This is not a solution, Arnold. You cannot lie in bed forever.”

“I can try.”

“I am not letting you.”

Arnold makes another groaning noise. 

“You are such a white boy, never talking about your problems. How am I supposed to help if you never talk?” Nabulungi’s voice is fond, which is the only reason her words don’t sting. 

Arnold opens his mouth to explain, but no words come out. He can’t get any words to come out. He tries, he does, but all the noise he ends up making is another groan.

“I will fetch my texting device.” Nabulungi says. “If you cannot speak, maybe you can write!”

Then she disappears, leaving Arnold alone with his thoughts. Just like he’s been for the past three days. 

Not that prolonged exposure has made them any easier to bear.

It’s been a week since he used his last dose of T, and he managed three whole days before the thoughts of not passing anymore turned from plain old thoughts into shouting thoughts into the only thing he could think. Anxious thoughts. Stuck thoughts, chasing themselves around his head on a loop, round and round and round. 

He can’t get out of bed because if someone sees him then they’ll _know_ , and they can’t know, he’s done such a good job of hiding it, he’s been so sneaky, he’s tried so hard. They can’t know now. They can’t.

Elder Thomas has been sleeping somewhere else, though Arnold doesn’t know where. He took one look at Arnold, lying curled up like a comma, and had walked out of their room again, leaving him to it. He must have told everyone else Arnold’s sick or something, kept them away. Arnold’s very grateful. Elder Thomas is so good to him, to everyone. 

He’s very glad he’s not sharing a room with Kevin anymore, because Kevin would ask questions. Kevin would try to help. Kevin wouldn’t take no for an answer, something that is only useful in certain situations, and Arnold doesn’t have the energy to get angry right now. All of his energy is being used up on thoughts, on staying in bed and not doing anything bad, on not crying.

The door creaks open again and Nabulungi reappears, now holding her typewriter.

She hands it to him. He has to sit up to use it, but he’s not wearing his binder because he hasn’t worn his binder in three days because he knows if he puts it on he won’t have the energy or the will to take it off and if he wears it too long he’ll hurt himself. And he’s not allowed to hurt himself, because Nabulungi and Kevin would get upset, and they’re not allowed to be upset.

So he ends up with the blanket wrapped around him like a backwards cape. He feels like a superhero who got dressed in a hurry. It’s comforting.

Nabulungi sits next to him, on Elder Thomas’ bed, somehow knowing he needs space without him having to say anything. If anyone’s a superhero, it’d be Nabulungi. She totally has secret super powers.

‘ _U kno how I have a weird body & have to do medicine things to fix it?_’ Arnold types out. It only takes him several minutes. His hands are shaking, which makes typing hard. He wonders how long they’ve been shaking.

Nabulungi nods. “I love you anyways,” she says, like she always does whenever they talk about this, because she is a superhero. Like Wonder Woman but even cooler.

‘ _I ran out of medicine_ ’. Arnold types. His hands are shaking more, even more, and his eyes are stinging, and there’s pressure building up in his chest like he’s been binding for too long or someone is sitting on him or something and he feels like he’s going to explode. 

Nabulungi wraps an arm around his shoulders and hums soothingly. Arnold doesn’t stop shaking, but the pressure in his chest stutters to a stop.

“Where do you get your medicine?” Nabulungi asks, quietly. “You can get more, yes? Is it far away? We could borrow a car from the next village--”

‘ _America_ ’.

“Oh. Oh, I see now. You think you cannot get it here? Because we do not have many hospitals?”

Arnold nods.

Nabulungi is quiet for a few minutes, as she thinks. Which is impressive - Arnold hadn’t expected her to actually try and work out a solution. The situation seems pretty unsolutionable to him. 

“I do not know where to get things other than from the market or from the city,” She says eventually, “And the city is many days drive away. And I am not sure if they will give medicine to an American. Is there no way to get it sent here to you, from America?"

Shaking his head, Arnold types out, ‘ _Lots of money. Illegal_.’

Nabulungi makes a frustrated noise. “This is a big problem, I understand now. But don’t worry, Arnold, I will find you some medicine, I promise. I am sure Heavenly Father will lend a hand also, if you pray. Have you been praying?”

Arnold nods. Praying’s good, praying’s easy. It’s one of the few things he can do to get his thoughts to calm down, quieten, make a little bit more sense. Praying’s good.

“You don’t want the other elders to know?” Nabulungi asks, like she knows the answer but just wants to be sure. Arnold nods again, and she makes a thoughtful noise. “What about Kevin? He cares about you, I’m sure he would help.”

Arnold shakes his head violently.

“He will not think less of you,” Nabulungi says, with a sigh. “I know him, he’s a good man. He cares about you! But I won’t make you tell him if you don’t want to. What about Connor?”

Arnold makes a noise of surprise.

“Connor? You know, the one who stares at Kevin as if he hung the moon? He will definitely not think less of you. Why don’t you ask him?”

\---

Arnold has trouble speaking sometimes.

It’s something that’s always happened, for as long as he can remember. He’s never been good at words - the only thing he’s good at is telling stories, making things up, lying, and that’s almost always only ever gotten him into trouble. 

Except now he needs to speak, because he _needs_ to talk to Elder McKinley, because he can feel himself crumbling around his ears. He got out of bed for this and everything.

It’s four in the morning, and Elder McKinley is sat in the kitchen. Even without the hell dreams - and Arnold knows from talking to Kevin that those are becoming steadily less frequent, thankfully - Elder McKinley is still an A star insomniac. Arnold knows, because it’s something they have in common.

He also knows that, at four in the morning, everyone else is guaranteed to be fast asleep. He really doesn’t want anyone else to overhear this conversation.

“Elder Cunningham?” Elder McKinley asks, without looking up from the book he’s reading. “You’ve been standing in the doorway for over ten minutes. Are you going to move at all?”

Arnold swallows and makes himself move, walking shakily into the kitchen and sitting at the table opposite Elder McKinley.

“Is there something you want to talk about?”

“Do people come to talk to you at four in the morning a lot?”

Elder McKinley smiles, then shrugs. “Apparently I’m quite approachable. And Nabulungi keeps telling everyone I have magic powers or something because I got her pain killers that one time.”

“She likes you.” Arnold agrees.

“Is that what this is about? Girl advice? Because if so, I’m very sorry Elder, but that’s not really my area of expertise.”

“No, no, we’re-- everything is fine, I’m-- It’s-- I need--” Arnold dissolves into frustrated hand-flapping. 

“Medicine?”

Arnold blinks at him, surprised.

“Nabulungi mentioned you might have trouble explaining what you wanted.” Elder McKinley admits, looking sheepish. “Not that I make a habit of talking about you behind your back, I just-- Only do it when I’m worried about you? Sorry if that’s invasive. I’ll stop if you tell me to.”

“No, no, it’s-- that’s fine.” Arnold stutters out. “You’re-- worried?”

Elder McKinley softens. “We all are, Arnold.”

“Oh. Right. Okay.”

“You need T, right?” He continues. “I’m guessing that your explanation for Nabulungi didn’t include all the fancy words, because those words can be confusing enough for a native English speaker, never mind someone who picked it up almost entirely from missionaries. But she said something about medicine because your body is wrong?”

“Y-Yes-- Yeah.”

Elder McKinley nods. “I’ll do what I can. And I’ll keep you updated.” He pauses, then adds, quieter, “Does Kevin know?”

Arnold shakes his head.

“Do you _want_ him to know?”

Arnold starts to shake his head, then stops. “I don’t-- I--” He shrugs, flapping a hand.

“I can tell him, if you want?” Elder McKinley asks, voice gentle. “He’s worried a lot, is all. He doesn’t have to know if you don’t want him to, but an explanation might help him relax a bit. And stop frantically googling your ‘symptoms’, ending up on WebMD and then convincing himself you have cancer.”

Arnold swallows, then swallows again, then finally manages to say, “....You can-- Tell. Him.”

Elder McKinley nods. “Okay, cool. Hey, you want hot cocoa? I could totally go for some hot cocoa right now.”

Arnold nods jerkily. Elder McKinley gets up, leaving his book on the table, and bustles about making two cups of hot cocoa. And by ‘bustles’ Arnold really means ‘dances’, but Elder McKinley dancing is basically a given, at this point. 

He seems happy. They both do -- Elder McKinley and Kevin -- and Arnold’s glad. They deserve it. Each other. Happiness.

“Are you really-- okay with-- with this?” Arnold blurts out after a minute or so of silence.

Elder McKinley nods without turning round. Just like Nabulungi, he seems to be able to innately sense when Arnold can’t deal with things, normal things everyone else can deal with, like words and eye contact. Maybe superpowers are contagious. “I’m not all that cis myself, Elder.”

Arnold feels his mouth drop open in surprise. “You’re-- what?”

“Genderfluid.” Elder McKinley says. “He/him/his pronouns are basically always fine. Kevin knows, but no one else does, but, well. I know about you. It only seems fair.”

Then he hands Arnold a mug of steaming hot cocoa and picks his book up again, letting them fall back into comfortable silence.

\---

It’s two days before Elder McKinley tells Kevin.

Or, at least, it’s two days before Kevin says anything to Arnold to indicate that Elder McKinley has told him. Maybe Kevin needed a day or so to mull it over or something. Arnold doesn’t know, he’s not Kevin.

Arnold still can’t get out of bed when there’s the possibility of someone else seeing him, but Nabulungi has started to make regular visits and keep Arnold up to date with all of the latest gossip. Meaning she’s not allowing him to wallow in self-pity, which is. Nice. Self-pity was starting to get a bit old, anyway. Given the choice between self-pity and Nabulungi, Arnold would choose Nabulungi every time.

And then the door creaks open in the middle of the afternoon, but it’s not Nabulungi peeking her head around the door, it’s Kevin.

“Hey,” Kevin says, “Long time no see.” He’s smiling, though, so Arnold knows he isn’t saying it to be mean.

Arnold waves.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come see you earlier,” Kevin continues, stepping into the room properly and closing the door behind him, “I figured it would be best to give you space. I’m not as good at telling what you need as Nabulungi is.”

“Which is why I’m dating her, not you.” Arnold agrees.

Kevin huffs a laugh. “Yeah, exactly. Anyway, I just-- Connor told me.”

A sudden nervous lump appears in Arnold’s throat.

“And I could have told him to tell you this, or told Nabulungi to tell you this, but I figured it would be better from me direct, so. Um. I don’t care, yeah? I mean, obviously I don’t care, I’m dating Connor--” His cheeks flush, like he isn’t used to saying that out loud yet. It’s kinda adorable. “But, y’know. I just wanted to know you know. This doesn’t change anything, you’re still my friend, I’ll defend your right to identify however you like until you die, etc etc.”

The nervous lump vanishes. 

“And, um. Obviously I’m still new to all this, so. If I fuck up, tell me. Shout at me. Hit me, even.” 

“Thank you.” Arnold says, and Kevin grins.

“It’s nothing, really. Hey, did Nabulungi tell you about how it’s her niece’s birthday soon? Because that’s happening! And they’re letting me plan the party, and we can’t do that much for obvious reasons but I’m going to ask Connor about maybe getting some balloons and I’m gonna see about getting a cake and…”

\---

After another two days - two days filled with Nabulungi and Kevin taking it in turns to babble excitedly about the birthday party planning process - Elder McKinley appears in the doorway of Arnold’s room holding a large cardboard box.

“Please do not ask me how I got this,” he says, setting the box down on the bed next to Arnold. “It’s six months worth. I would have got more if I could’ve, but there are things even I can’t do.”

“Thank you.” Arnold says. His voice definitely does not break, and there are definitely not tears in his eyes. He swallows around an entirely non-existent lump in his throat. “Thank you so much.”

“Anything to help.” Elder McKinley replies. “Now you’ll be able to come to the party! The villagers have all missed you a lot, you know. We’ve had to field a lot of people wanting to help. And, well, obviously they keep cooking for you.” He nods at the empty dish sitting on the floor by Arnold’s bed, that Nabulungi had brought with her earlier this morning.

Arnold nods, not quite trusting his voice to behave if he tries to speak. Elder McKinley grins at him one more time, then disappears out the door again.

Arnold stares at the box for several minutes, blinking and rubbing at his eyes because he’s kinda convinced he’s dreaming. Then he opens the book, and it’s full of needles and syringes and _T_ , oh gosh, Elder McKinley actually managed to find him _T_ in _Uganda_. 

He _definitely_ has some kind of superpower.

\---

When Arnold stumbles out into the common area, his legs still kinda shaky, his muscles still kinda weird-feeling where he did his shot, he isn’t expecting most of the elders and Nabulungi to be there. He also isn’t expecting them to cheer.

But that’s what they do, and he grins so hard his cheeks hurt.

Then there’s a chorus of, “It’s so great to see you up!”s and “I’m so glad you’re feeling better!”s, and Arnold loses a few minutes to a blur of thanking people and smiling at people and being (carefully) hugged. It’s nice. He forgets, a lot, how close-knit this district is, how much they all care about each other, and being reminded like this is really, really nice.

And then someone is grabbing his hand and pulling him into a quiet corner and it’s Nabulungi, of course it is. He beams at her. She grins back.

Someone wolf whistles.

She rolls her eyes, then leans up and says, quietly, “I am happy to see you happy again,” and presses a kiss to his lips.

It’s like the kiss at the end of a movie, and Arnold can almost hear the music playing, some bouncy pop song about everything being alright in the end. He smiles into the kiss, and feels Nabulungi smile too, and seriously, his life is _great_.

**Author's Note:**

> i am [here](http://notquiteaghost.tumblr.com) on tumblr. if you liked this fic, please [click my pokefarm eggs](http://pokefarm.com/user/notquiteaghost).


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